Game of Prompts
by chicaalterego
Summary: Every time the gods of fate roll a dice, the board gains another player. What can change in The Game, when mixing in rules from another world?
1. Harry Potter

**Disclaimer:** Don't own. Don't care. Writing this for free.

 **AN:** Hi there people! I'm alive! I do not have the drive to write any proper update for my previous fics, but I figured fixing an old plot bunny for publishing was OK.

While I am still in hiatus from truly writing any fic, I do still read fics here. I don't know how many of you know the author cherryvvoid. She is one of my favorite fic writers... who has a lot of unfinished fics (we are practically twins in that front). Anyway, point is she is hoping to get a fashion sponsorship and needs 1000 Instagram followers to get it. She is missing 400. If you could please follow the instagram account slimjimsandarizonas it would help her a lot.

Thanks to all that decide to help. You are making someone's life a wee bit better :D

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About the fic in itself... this is a collection of prompts to share ideas with other authors. Prompts are up for the grab, so PM to let me know and get the written content for this or any future prompts, so I can make a list for interested people to read other author's follow ups. I only ask for a little credit: something like: Inspired on/based on/follow up of, "Game of Prompts" ch:? by Chicaalterego

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Prompt 1: Harry

The Promised Prince's Palingenesis

On a beautiful night, in a ancient castle named Hogwarts, a war hero was drowning a pint of Firewhisky. The man had black hair and green eyes, and had the most peculiar thunderbolt scar on his forehead. The room the man was in was as peculiar, if not more so than the legendary scar from the man: the room was made of old stone, moving portraits in the walls listening raptly to the conversation between the Man-Who-Conquered and the temporary owner of the room, one Headmistress Minerva McGonagall.

"There is nothing like good Firewhisky at the end of a school term, wouldn't you agree, Harry?" Spoke the headmistress with exhausted fondness.

Harry, who was more of a drinker of Butterbeer, simply took a sip. It was kind of funny that Harry ended up going back to Hogwarts as a DADA teacher, specially since he never finished his last year of schooling. After the Battle of Hogwarts was over, Harry had joined the Auror corps to hunt down the Death Eathers that had Aparated away from the grounds after Voldemort got a killing curse rebounded to his nose-less face. Becoming an Auror was tough work, but Harry felt the war wouldn't be truly finished until every one of Voldemort's followers were brought to justice.

It took Harry a solid five years to accomplish what he had sought to do. The last Death Eater catch was made by Harry along with Ronald Weasley and Nerville Longbottom. The three former Gryffindors had become one of the best teams in the corps by combining Ron's strategy, Nerville's sword-and-wand style of combat and Harry's mastery of jumping straight into enemy fire and come out alive. When the arduous last battle was over, the three friends had gone to drink and celebrate that it was finally over. Their private celebration had a lot of conversation, from the times in school, from their latest battle, to their plans of the future.

Harry had been surprised to discover that neither Ron nor Nerville had a plan to continue being Aurors now that they had captured all the responsible of the death of their loved ones: Ron had an open invitation from George to join him on Weasley Wizard Wheezes, and Nerville had a similarly open apprenticeship offer from their old Herbology professor, Pomona Sprout. As for Harry... he hadn't thought in his future beyond the idea of maybe marrying Ginny and making a family with her. Harry's plan of marrying Ron's younger sister was once more than a maybe, but between Harry's devotion to hunting criminals and his girlfriend obsession with her Quidditch career, their relationship had grown to become an after-thought with occasional bout of intense, passionate sex.

After the three friends bade farewell for the night Harry went to his home and tried to decide what he wanted to do from there on. He could continue being an Auror, he was probably one of the best men in the force... but was that what he really wanted to do? He couldn't say for sure it was. His pondering over the issue lasted a whole week before the answer to his pondering came as an unexpected owl from his old Transfiguration teacher, who had been unable to find a Professor Against the Dark Arts teacher (a position that remained cursed even after the defeat of Voldemort). Needless to say, Harry ended up taking the job.

Harry's time as a teacher made him feel fulfilled in a way that Auror work never made him. He was sure -as he heard his students laugh at the closing ceremony, the Great Hall decorated in Gryffindor colors, in the one place Harry ever saw as home- that he wanted to come back to teach for many more years. The DADA curse still in place did not face him, after all, Harry had beaten the Dark Lord himself, so maybe it was a matter of fact that it would be Harry who was destined to break the curse Tom had put in the job as well. And so, with his future settled in his mind, Harry told Minerva McGonagall about his plans to come back for the next year... which ended up with the older witch asking Harry to meet her in her office after he helped the other teachers lead the students to the Hogwarts Express.

"Are you certain you can take the job permanently? I do believe that the Aurors would be hard pressed to let one of their finest go... not to mention the risk it could pose for you, Harry," while she dearly wished a reprieve of recruiting teachers for the cursed position, she didn't believe it was a realistic idea with how important Harry had become to buster the reputation of the Auror department. There was also the problem of the curse... but she was also of the mind that if there was one person capable of beating that one once and for all it would be the young man sitting in front of her desk.

"It won't be easy to convince them," Harry agreed "but I already spoke to Kingsley and he agreed to it, so long as I helped them out from time to time during the hols."

"I guess I will be seeing you next year as well then," Minerva smiled "and to think I will be having two former students as teachers next year..."

"Two?" Harry asked puzzled for a moment before it clicked, "Nerville is becoming the Herbology teacher, is he not? That was why Professor Sprout asked him to become an apprentice!"

"Five points to Gryffindor Mr. Potter," she joked amiably.

"Brilliant!"

To have Nerville by his side on top of getting the job of his dreams. Harry's future was looking very bright indeed.

...

Things were looking very grim. The mission Harry had been asked to help had seemed like a simple one in the beginning: go to the Ministry of Magic, escort this Japanese Quidditch player that was the son of Japan's Minister of Magic, as an act of good will to foster amiable relationships with their country. Of course, what seemed like an easy mission became a lot harder when white, ghostly tendrils invaded the ministry as a whole. Harry didn't know it right away, but that very same day a group of Unspeakables were studying the veil of death, and... whatever they were doing down there, managed to leave a crack in the arch of the veil. Old magic started to run amok, and it had been very few wizards that were good enough to protect themselves in time.

Of course, Harry being the person that he was, he didn't just stand and defend himself: he strode forwards towards looking for the source of danger. Harry ran across the Department of Prophesy, Elder Wand in Hand, to one where he spotted the familiar arch where his Godfather had met his demise at. The white tendrils coming out of the thing were countless, but much less than they would have been had Harry not spent the better part of an hour cutting and blasting tendrils in his way to the room. Then, as he was a scant twenty meters away from the Veil, he spotted a small crack that only one with the sight of a Seeker could spot.

Harry rose his wand to cast a _Reparo_ with as much magic as he could muster:he was tired and running out of fuel for his magic. The spell struck true and the crack mended... but not before a last tendril of white wrapped around Harry's wand arm and pulled his soul out of him. Harry's soulless body slumped forwards, the Elder Wand rolling on the ground like a pencil would, somehow making it's way all the way to the arch its master had fallen through.

Somewhere in a Higher plane, a God rolled a dice.

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The merciless sun reigned in the cloudless sky in a small mining town between Norvos and Pentos; a little town between Norvos and Pentos. The wind, dry and full of dust, offered no reprieve, for it was harsh and full of heat, bringing in the sand of the desert. The streets of the wayward town were mostly empty that day: the weather carried the threat of a deadly sandstorm; so much so, that the townspeople opened their doors to decent people and beggars alike, an age-old practice to make sure the nearby desert wouldn't claim the lifeblood of the place. This practice was not born out of kindness, but from a need of survival on a hostile land that no man would live in if not for the money that could be earned from it.

And, of course, wherever men went in the search of money, brothels are bound to open their doors.

It was, perhaps, a kindness of fate that it was on such a place that Daenerys Targaryen had her first blood. The matron of the brothel her brother Vyserys and her had been allowed in was a stern woman, but not a completely heartless one: upon noticing the crimson staining the tattered dress of the Storm Born, she called one of the worker girls to teach her how to keep the blood form staining her clothes, how to lessen the pain and what it meant to bloom... even how to get rid of any child she might get.

Daenerys listened with quiet embarrassment to the words of the experienced woman; the moans of his brother as he fucked another of the workers in the next room making the whole thing all the more mortifying. Daenerys was usually made to stay outside on those nights when his brother went into brothels to spend the coin the two of them had begged during the day, but despite her growing used to the sounds of moans, the banging sounds and the screams, Daenerys knew not what happened behind those doors, and she was too afraid of Waking the Dragon to ask Vyserys.

Now she knew.

The sound of glass breaking came from the room Daenerys knew her brother was in, and the so familiar voice of the King of Beggars made his sister flinch. The closed door opened with a violent bang, and a half-naked woman with teary green eyes and a darkening bruise in her face, came out tumbling. "I AM THE RIGHTFUL KING! I SHALL REGAIN THE THRONE AND SLAY THE USURPER!" Vyserys screamed outraged. The woman had awoken the dragon.

What followed next was a scene that Daenerys was very familiar with: her brother roared and fumed, up until he was subdued by someone physically stronger under the watch of a mocking crowd. Promises of vengeance were spat from Vyserys mouth, and there was no doubt they would have kicked the both of them out if not for the sandstorm raging outside.

It was there, in the mist of derisive words and spite, that Daenerys spotted the woman that had been with Vyserys not long before. Eyes of an unusual shade of green, glared with fury towards them until the sandstorm was over.

...

Days turned into years, and the Storm Born turned into a strong woman. Long gone was the meek girl that begged in the streets under the shadow of his brother, leaving a conqueror who broke the chains of slavery of the whole city of Meereen.

Personal grow aside, Daenerys would always carry the drive to go back to claim Her Birthright as the queen of the Seven Kingdoms; how could she not? She had been told her whole life that it was her fate (well, her brother's fate and hers by proxy) to claim back what once belonged to the Targaryen and make their enemies pay. And yet... as she heard the people of Meereen call out to her so loud that their collective chant traveled from outside to where she sat in her newly gained throne, she felt torn: going away to Westeros meant leaving them behind the people she had freed: it felt wrong to turn her back on their devotion. She was unsure of what road to take. And so she sat in her stone throne, looking up to one of the windows that allowed the light into the room, pondering on whether to remain as the queen in Meereen or sail back to claim the Iron Throne.

But regardless of where she ultimately decided to reign, the weight of reigning was a heavy burden she was fated to deal with.

And, of course, when a person is burdened with making big choices, then big mistakes are inevitable: case and point the crucifixion of Hizdahr zo Loraq's father. By ordering every slave master of Meereen crucified -as a means of seeking justice for the 163 slave children those men had had killed in the same fashion- Daenerys had ordered the death of an innocent Great Master who seek to oppose the sin she had also blamed him for.

Daenerys' first time sitting in her throne officially, she had 215 hearings with the people of Meereen. Many months had passed since then, and the number had gotten lower. But less meetings didn't mean her life getting any easier. Now, with two of her dragons in chains, chains she had put around their necks, and with the sons of the harpy taking things a step further and killing her unsullied... ruling had become more daunting that she ever thought possible.

She closed her eyes to reign back her feelings of distress. She needed to regain her calm back before today's hearings.

Many men, and a handful of women, walked in to speak of their needs and desires; many of which were similar to the ones of the days before: people in need of job, people asking her to reestablish a practice she took down along with slavery... petitions that had stopped surprising her after the fist week.

But, among the unsurprising hearings, came one that she would never have predicted would come.

From the main entrance to the throne room came a very old, hooded woman carrying a bundle of clothes of the size of a goat. The woman's clothes were tattered and unclean, her visible skin a mix of sickness and sun burn, and her eyes, a misty blue that made Daenerys wonder if the woman was even capable of seeing her.

"You might come closer," Daenerys ordered with practice ease, and the woman moved forwards with slow, wobbly steps, her eyes tracing the stair steps, careful not to trip.

The woman came closer than any other citizen coming in for a hearing; the Unsullied behind her stood on alert, but Daenerys rose a hand placatingly. The woman handed the Storm Born the bundle in her arms, making Daenerys momentarily fear that she was handed another child that had been burnt to death by the still missing Drogon. That fear vanished when the bundle shifted: whatever was inside was alive. She moved to unwrap the fabric, but was stopped by Ser Barristan, who took the cloth out of her arms, unwilling to let her risk herself with the unknown delivery of the elderly woman. The woman remained silent through the exchange, though her visage revealed annoyance.

When the bundle turned out to be a pale, white-haired boy of about eight name days, Ser Barristan let out a small gasp, Daenerys' eyes widened in surprise. The boy's resemblance to Vyserys was uncanny. Daenerys lifted her arms a bit, and the boy was put down in her arms. The Breaker of Chains let her delicate fingers gently brush the boy's fringe, revealing a little scar in the shape of a lighting bolt.

"Explain," Daenerys demanded sternly.

"Your grace. Nine years ago your brother spent good coin to sleep with one of my girls... with unwanted results," the woman dry-coughed, but didn't stop her story for long. "The mother of this child drank Moon Tea every day and every night, but her belly kept on growing... the gods must have willed this boy to be born." the old woman's words died. The silence reigned for several long seconds.

"What happened to her?" Daenerys asked.

"She drank Moon Tea until she gave birth... but it was her life that death claimed. And her child was left behind in our care... and care we did for him, care until it was time to give him back to you."

Daenerys eyes lighted with understanding "You came to leave him to me for a price?"

The woman smiled, the few teeth age had not made her loose were rotting. "Money would please me, yes. But I hand you your brother's bastard to repay a debt."

"To my brother?" The woman snorted.

"To Harry," she clarified, looking sadly to the boy in Daenerys' lap. "This boy is a kind one. Always has been. Too good, in fact; smart too. Named himself, that one, when we gave him no name. At first, we didn't thought he would survive, you see, he was born too soon, and the Moon Tea her mother drank made him sickly up to his toddle years. There was another whore whose baby was born dead mere days before this one, she fed him with her breast and nursed him back to health. We forbade her to name the boy, though... not much point in loving a boy that she could not keep, a pretty boy that we would sell later on."

Daenerys looked with disgust to the woman in front of her. The idea that this woman would think to sell a boy of her own blood made her burn with rage.

"We never got to sell the boy, though; he was too useful: he was talented in the kitchen, and his food helped bring many clients. By the time we decided to keep him he had already named himself."

"If he is so useful, why give him to me now?" Daenerys asked coldly.

"Bandits attacked our brothel and lighted it on fire. My husband's heart was pierced with a sword, our girls raped and taken away. I was trapped under the rubble and left for dead... but the boy, who had been hit on the head so hard when trying to protect the woman that raised him that I could swear his skull should have busted open, came back for me, helping me get out before I burnt to ashes. I owe my life to that boy. I do not like owing debts."

Daenerys could not muster any sympathy for the woman in front of her. Instead, the Storm Born asked something that had been bothering her from the start "Why is he sleeping?"

The old woman huffed "The boy is too kind for his own good; he wouldn't leave an old lady to die alone. I know he aches for family, anyone who lives as long as I learns to see the sings. He would have waited until I'm buried to search for you if I hadn't brought him here, and he would have asked you to let me stay if he were awake... then he would follow when he knew I won't stay here. So I fed him Milk of the Poppy, an expense that I would have done without if the child would let me get rid off him."

Daenerys was impassive, she could not like people who condoned slavery, much less so one who had taken advantage of a Targaryen; yet, she could not take revenge on a dying old lady who brought back the last family she had left in the world "You do me a great service by bringing my kin back to me. You will be given money and provisions as for your travels as reward for your troubles. Have a good rest tonight, you will be leaving Meereen in the morning. I do not want you around my nephew again."

The woman bowed and walked away without a word of thank nor complain on Daenerys order. Before she left the room, though, she turned back to the where Meereen's queen sat, "Tell Harry that Sena will wait for him in 'the next great adventure'." And with those last words she was gone, never to be seen again by Targaryen eyes.

"Tell the others I shall not receive more people today," Daenerys ordered and stood up with the sleeping child in her arms. That said, she left the room as well, closely followed by Ser Barristan to the queen's room."

...

The sun had sunk in the horizon when Harry woke up in a familiar room. He looked up to his a beautiful purple-eyed woman with hair as white as Harry's own. He could tell was his aunt by the descriptions he had heard of the Targaryen Princess. The woman smiled softly at him, her eyes slightly wide in surprise when their eyes met.

Her nephew had green eyes.

 _End of Prompt 1_

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 **AN:** The idea of this fic was born before I published the first chapter of "Rise of the Pale Dragon", back then, I had like 3 plotbunnies of HPxGOT and about 5 in other xover areas. I had to chose but the ideas (and in some case drafts) remained. So I polished this one and post it.

I hope you liked the _first_ prompt of this thing. Now, since fair is fair, I decided that prompting could go both ways: so, I made a list about what to expect on this fic, how to prompt me, etc.

Remember my request to follow the Instagram account: slimjimsandarizonas Making other people's better for free... on a easy way... earn yourself some karma points XD

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 ** _LIST OF WHAT TO EXPECT ON THIS FIC, HOW TO PROMPT ME, ETC._**

 ** _1._** _All prompts can be modified, but if you want your to be on the list it has to be obviously inspired from the chapter you took the prompt from._

 _ **2**. I can send anyone willing to further any Prompt the specific chapter you want through the doc delivery._

 _ **3**. I plan to give **one** scenario per character and **no more**. I do accept prompts from readers for character I haven't published on._

 _ **4**. If you want to prompt me, any suggestion on how HP characters get to GOT are valid; It doesn't matter if its by rebirth or dimension hopping by Nargle magic (this last one is literal, I plan to use that one). Also, it does not need to be a unique traveling method, i.e. you can suggest any character be in the Ministry of Magic during this chapter, or use any excuse you might have read somewhere. Cliche's are valid: no points gained or lost for originality. _

_**5**. There are no time restrains on when a character gets to GOT: A character might get out of HP after another, then get reborn first. For example, let us say I decided Kingsley was in the Ministry of Magic that day just as Harry was, but have the man get into GOT decades before or after._

 _ **6**. The character getting out of the HP universe must not change HP cannon. Meaning, unless the character is not all that important on all scheme of things, then you should wait for the Battle of Hogwarts as an earliest point to get the character out of that universe._

 _ **7**. Dead characters in the HP book can get into the GOT world: i.e. Fred Weasley, R.A.B., Dumbledore, Snape..._

 _ **8**. Anything happening in this fic takes place in GOT. I **WILL NOT** write GOT characters going to the HP world. _

_**9**. I think it's fun and beyond cool to imagine all prompts happening in the same universe (therefore the 1 prompt per HP character). I do not actually imagine myself working on this fic long enough to make all p_ _rompts collide, but I plan to keep it an open option just because. Which means I plan to make fics that do not conflict with one another. Any suggestions that go against this idea will likely be ignored or modified (or published once I completely give up on the idea of merging... which is likely to happen)._

 _ **10**. Updates are irregular with high likelihood of lasting forever for me to give you any new chapter. Remember, each chapter was written as a oneshot, and will remain so until stated otherwise._

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Yeah... that was a long list...

whatever.

Give me a REVIEW and I will be very happy, don't give me one and 'suffer my... _displeasure'_ (got that reference anyone?)

As for the list of fics inspired by this...

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 _ **FICS INSPIRED BY THIS PROMPT**_

Name of the fic: _ Author:_

(AKA: None so far. Time will tell if anyone takes the prompt)

See you on the next one!


	2. Filius Flitwick

**Disclaimer:** Don't own. Don't care. Writing this for free.

 **AN:** Before your read, I need to clarify something: In this fic Filius is very old. The information about the character is spotty at best in the books, so I plan to take the stuff he did in the movies as canon; but his looks are the ones from the first two films, not the youngified version that took his place in the rest.

This prompt was what would have been the first chapter of a fic I planned to name Pocket Sized, and it would show the adventures of Filius in GoT... But I decided that, in the end, I better stick to writing Rise of the Pale Dragon, which I have been neglecting, but still... anyway, here goes the fixed draft.

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 _Betaed on 25-05-17 by: ddzhalev_

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 _"I must admit, I was taken aback when I saw the film Flitwick, who looks very much like a goblin/elf (I've never actually asked the film-makers precisely what he is), because the Flitwick in my imagination simply looks like a very small old man."_ —J.K. Rowling

Prompt 2: Filius Flitwick

Pocket Sized

The Battle of Hogwarts was one of the most cruel and gruesome fights in the history of magical Great Britain. The Dark Lord Voldemort had brought all his followers, along with Dementors and other dark creatures, to fight against hundreds of school children (and some adults) in a melee of deadly spells.

The damage to the ancient castle had been appalling, but not as painful as the loss of life: friends, lovers, parents, daughters, sons... even the loss of strangers, making the crowds smaller, was a motive for grief. But while there was little to be done for those that had already left this world, life must go on, and it was up to the living to pick up the pieces. And so, while most children left the school to rejoin their remaining family to celebrate the end of the war, the Hogwarts teachers had stayed behind to help rebuild the walls and wards of the castle, so it would be safe once more when they made it back.

Not all students left the school, though. There were a few students that didn't want to go home for one reason or another. Most of these students left behind were Hufflepuffs, who wanted to keep the ones in their house who had been left alone in the world company, or Ravenclaws that were too worried for the upcoming exams to go back to their families. There were also a couple of Gryffindors in the mix, but it was hard to spot them outside meal times in the Great Hall. But no table was as empty as Slytherin's table: no child from that house had stayed behind after they had been blamed as a whole for the losses of the war.

Even a week after the event, Filius Flitwick could not understand what McGonagall had been thinking when she sent all children to the dungeons as prisoners not to be let out from there. That this took place while the rest of the school cheered made the little man's heart hurt for them. He had no doubt many of those children wouldn't come back when the school officially reopened, and those who had no option but to come back would end up become pariahs among their peers.

Filius debated not for the first time whether or not he should ask the house elves to bring his meals to his room instead of to the recently-repaired Great Hall, so he would not need to see the empty chairs, but in the end he went for breakfast anyway. His Ravenclaws would surely worry if they didn't see him there.

On the way to the Great Hall, Filius was greeted by many students. And while the little professor had always been very well liked due to his amiable and squeaky personality, his popularity went through the roof after he saved many students with a dueling mastery he never thought he would make use of again. Truth be told, even at his 138 years of age, Filius could be considered to be in good shape; and, while his muscles were not what they used to be, he had achieved such a mastery of the levitation charm, he could make his tiny old body twist and bounce like a rubber ball, ducking curses while shielding his students and showering Death Eaters with nasty spells at the same time. Yes, Filius Flitwick was a very dangerous fighter when he needed to be... even if his style was unusually springy.

Breakfast in the Hall was a quiet and short affair for the Charms professor. He chatted a little with his fellow teachers over a cup of tea before going out to work to help put some charms on the bridge that the new Transfiguration teacher (a pleasant youth named Thaddeus) had finished repairing the night before.

Filius arrived at the empty bridge area, the construction's white stone made it glaringly different than the old bridge Seamus Finnigan blew up during the Battle of Hogwarts. The bridge's new design didn't quite match with the castle, but it looked rather sturdy. Filius was sure it wouldn't be any trouble for him to transfigure the bridge to how it used to look like.

But before he could transfigure the bridge it needed to be empty of all occupants. At this point in time that wasn't the case since a ditzy-looking blonde witch stood there, swinging barefooted, wearing a puffy white dress, eyes closed, humming a melody that felt somewhat sad. "Good Morning, professor," she said dreamily with her eyes still closed.

"Good morning Miss Lovegood. Is everything alright?" Filius asked conversationally. Putting charms on the bridge could wait a few minutes. He was always happy to speak with with any of his Ravenclaws, especially if the student in question was looking sad and he could help cheer them up.

"Oh, I'm afraid not. The Friptemoths were very sad that there were no pumpkins this Halloween, and the Thestrals cannot get a good sleep because the Limperts keep poking them during the night," she explained mournfully.

Filius had no idea what she was talking about.

"Miss Lovegood, I meant to ask if everything is well at home. It was most unexpected that you decided to stay in the school instead of going home to your father."

"Oh that!" She exclaimed, opening her eyes in realization, "Well, you see, daddy thinks I'm a bit upset with him. He did a very silly thing because he was worried about me, and feels very guilty. If he knew I never got mad, he wouldn't know what to do about it; so I'm pretending to be mad at him now, so I can pretend to forgive him later."

Filius blinked twice at that "That is... very mature of you Miss Lovegood." Filius didn't completely understand why Xenophilius Lovegood would feel better by thinking his daughter was mad at him, but given that the man was such an odd fish when he was a student, Filius figured it was quite possible that Miss Lovegood was right... possibly.

Luna tilted her head to the side in an owlish manner, "Are you confused? The Nargles on the bridge are swarming around you."

Filius smiled affably, "The world we live in is quite confusing, Miss Lovegood."

Luna nodded sagely at that.

"Now, Miss Lovegood, I need to add some spells to the bridge, to make it safer. If you could get off of it I would be very thankful."

The blond hmm-ed then skipped her way across the bridge. She stood right behind her Head of House, looking curiously ahead "What kind of spells are you using?". Luna Lovegood, like any Ravenclaw worth their salt, never missed a chance to learn.

"Some protective charms, I also plan to make the stone gray, so it can match with the castle-"

Gasp! "I don't think you should, I believe the Nargles are rather fond of the color white. They have made this place their home already, and I think they would be very upset if you change it to any other color."

Filius was amused by the blonde's antics, he was even tempted to agree with her fantastical ideas... but he could not, in good conscience, let such an important historical landmark, such as Hogwarts Bridge, be changed due to a mistake that was so easily mended.

"Don't worry, Miss Lovegood, I'm sure that the Nargles can find many good places to make a home out of if they don't like the changes.

The angry sound of buzzing in his ears that sounded as soon as he transfigured the bridge grey quickly put that idea to rest. The Nargles were not happy.

Somewhere on a Higher plane, a God rolled a dice.

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Tyrion Lannister's trip to meet the Mother of Dragons was turning a tad too interesting for his taste.

It began badly enough, what with his killing the woman he loved and his father. Sure, he didn't feel bad about the murder of Tywin Lannister per se, but he knew Jamie would never forget him for it. Anyway; after a small bit of patricide and a decision to commit what was left of his miserable life to finding the answers to the universe in the bottom of a bottle, Tyrion had been convinced by his perfumed best friend to search for Daenerys Targaryen to see if the young princess was worthy of his service...a journey that somehow ended in his getting kidnapped by a man devoted to the Mother of Dragons who decided to take him exactly where he was going in the first place.

Funny thing that.

Well, not so funny. His kidnapper left him dry of wine and handcuffed, and was as good of a conversationalist as a pile of mud... not to mention that Jorah Mormont had the genius idea of making a shortcut out of the cursed ruins of Valyria. Which... wasn't so bad if you ignored the attack of the stone people and Tyrion almost drowning, but hey, at least after that debacle Tyrion got his hands out of those metal cuffs.

Of course, then his hands were back to getting restrained shortly after they noticed the slave ship.

"Got a lot of fight in you, huh?" a big man that had been referred to by the others as Malko asked after punching Jorah in the face. Malko smiled, then punched Jorah again for good measure.

Another slaver in the group looked towards Jorah pensively for a moment, then declared "Salt mines."

"That or a galley slave," Malko added "He looks strong enough."

"What about the dwarf?" the other slaver asked.

Malko didn't hesitate "Worthless. Cut his throat."

The slaver's man approached Tyrion, his hand already on the pommel of his sword.

Tyrion's heart beat like a drum "Wait, wait! Wait, wait, wait, let's discuss this!"

Unaffected by the dwarf's plea, Malko ordered "And then chop off his cock. We can sell it for a fortune. A dwarf's cock has magic powers."

The slaver grabbed Tyrion, but before he could point his sword at him, the sound of a thunder-clap could be heard across the sea. Tyrion looked up: the sky was without a cloud. Then someone pointed at something falling from the sky to the sea. Malko ordered one of his men to take a closer look, so he did, shortly returning with a grey bundle, drenched in salt water. The slaver dropped the bundle on the ground, and it coughed.

It took Tyrion a moment to realize he was looking at another dwarf. One that was so much older than any other dwarf he had ever seen in his life. The ancient dwarf had a completely bald head on top, but white, cotton-like puffs of hair around his ears, which perfectly matched the texture of an oddly-shaped beard.

Malko gave one big toothy smile, "Would you look at that?! The gods must be smiling down on us. Another dwarf!"

Tyrion was sure the slavers were planning on cutting the older dwarf's cock as well and Tyrion had always been sympathetic with the struggles of dwarfs, for he knew the kind of life they were always cursed with: being mocked as buffoons, treated as less than men for something out of their control.

Malko made a gesture and the slaver that had brought the bundle drew his sword, ready to chop the little old man's head.

"You can't!" Tyrion declared heatedly.

Slaver B rose an eyebrow, "Why not?"

"Because," Tyrion began, then said the first excuse to come to mind, "Surely, whatever magic he had in his cock must have withered by now."

"Excuse me!" Came the squeaky, spluttering voice of the very offended old dwarf.

Tyrion plowed on "Besides, what you plan to do is a taboo. You will get cursed!"

The slavers snorted, their expressions somewhere between amused and disdainful. "There is no such thing as an old man's curse. And it will be up to the cock merchant to tell us whether his cock's magic is still working."

The ancient dwarf was looking both completely lost and mortified about the contents of the conversation, and a very bright blush was shining onn his wrinkled cheeks."I don't know what prompted such a lack of respect, but I believe I deserve an apology for such insults!"

The slavers laughed raucously. The old dwarf seemed to vibrate in anger where he stood.

"Kill them both! That one first" came the order, the fat meaty hand of the slaver pointing at the yet unnamed old dwarf. Probably a mercy in the slaver's eyes.

The slaver lifted his sword up and moved it down to cut off the head of the old man. Tyrion didn't even have time to think of anything else to say as he saw in his mind's eye the neck of the ancient dwarf getting chopped.

Then, It happened.

With a speed and agility that belied the age and appearance of the ancient dwarf, he jumped and twisted, a flash of red light coming out of a stick the dwarf had taken out of his soaked, gray cloak. Not a moment later, the would-be-executioner fell to the ground, looking stiff as a board. A cry of "sorcery" came from Malko. Weapons of all kinds came out into the slaves' hands and they formed a menacing circle around the witch dwarf. There were at least thirty men total, all surrounding a single, very small opponent...

They never stood a chance.

Beam after beam of vivid color was shot out of his stick with nothing more than a flick and a squeaked word; reality twisted to obey the commands of the little old man: shoes came alive and tripped the men wearing them; pants and the odd shirt shrunk tight enough to suffocate the wearers, making it hard for them to move and breathe. A barefooted, barely-dressed slave that had been spared from the attacks so far, took a long, curved sword and tried to stab the ancient warrior in a sneak attack... the little man jumped forwards, his small frame twisting in the air like a leaf riding the wind, and the descending weapon turned into a hen. Now, Tyrion was not an expert on chickens, but he was willing to bet good gold that the way it tried to peck the eye of the slave that had been manhandling it by the neck was not normal.

"It's the old man's curse!" Malko screamed in panic, "Slaves! PROTECT ME!" He ordered while using the nearest one of his men to shield himself before sprinting towards the ships with a grace Tyrion had only ever seen when a very drunk Robert Baratheon grabbed the ass of Lancel Lannister and dragged the effeminate man (then teenager) to the dance floor and waltzed Tyrion's cousin into a rock pillar.

Tyrion stood there, mouth agape and wide eyed, mind freezing while trying to process what he was witnessing. Nevertheless, later on, when looking back to the memory of this day, Tyrion would laugh, retelling the whole thing with the same gusto he told the tale about the time he had gone into a brothel with a honeycomb and a donkey and-

"WHAT DO YOU THINK YOU ARE DOING?! GET BACK THERE! PROTECT ME!" Malko's retreat triggered a stampede of running men, and no matter how much he threatened and yelled, his orders were falling on deaf ears, for few men can think straight under the threat of sorcery. Malko was soon left behind, inevitably falling victim to the old dwarf's magic: the very spare rope the man had been carrying slithered like a snake and wrapped itself around Malko's thick frame, binding it from ankle to chin.

Tyrion noticed the movement of his traveling companion, Jorah, who rushed towards a discarded sword on the floor, then squatted down on the floor at an odd angle while bending both sideways and backwards so the rope tying his hand could be cut with the blade in the sand. The Westerosi didn't smile in triumph as he picked up the sword he had used to free his own wrists and looked for an opening to attack the pint sized wizard. "Don't-!" Tyrion warned Jorah, who looked at the blond dwarf with burning eyes.

"If we are going to beat him, we need to act while he is distracted," Jorah explained in whispers as he cut the ropes around the Lannister's wrists.

"Why do we need to beat him?" Tyrion whispered back harshly.

"In my experience those who use magic are always a threat to..."

"A threat to Daenerys Targaryen?" Tyrion deducted from Jorah's tone.

The battle between the ancient dwarf and the rest of the slavers' crew ended during their brief conversation: the slavers and slaves were running in all directions after Malko was bound; every slave and slaver left standing found themselves trapped by sand turned into quicksand that swallowed every one of them up to their shoulders with a speed that was simply unnatural. The fearful screams of the men grew in pitch and urgency, making the last two men (both of them mercenaries) fall to their knees and beg for mercy and offer money.

Jorah saw an opening to attack, sword swinging fast and true towards the back of the distracted witch; it managed to leave a bloody scrape on the top of the bald head before Jorah joined the half-buried men. Jorah struggled silently, glare firmly in place, his defiance and fighting spirit making him stand out from the screaming slaves and slavers.

It took a scant few seconds for Tyrion to realize that he was the last man man standing in front of the sorcerer, who promptly rose his magic stick in his direction. Tyrion winced in preparation for an attack. "Solve Fasciculos," came the squeaked words, and the ropes around Tyrion's wrists dropped harmlessly on the floor. Tyrion moved his wrists in front of himself and rubbed the wrists in front of his chest to try to relieve bit of the soreness in them.

"Thank you for that," Tyrion spoke honestly with a wry smile, "My name is Tyrion Lannister, and, as a Lannister, I would like to know who I'm indebted to for saving my life."

"There is no debt to be paid, young man, It's enough to see you are unharmed by these ruffians," the sound of struggle created a disturbing background noise up to that point, but the witch dwarf huffed and, with a shout of "Finite Incantatem," the men buried in the sand were spat out, those who were petrified or immobilized by their attires or other miscellaneous pbjects found themselves capable of running for their lives and relishing in their newly found mobility. The witch dwarf didn't follow. Jorah picked himself up from the floor and tried to remove the sand that clung to his chest.

"I'm Filius Flitwick," the old dwarf continued, "It is nice to meet you, Mr. Lannister."

"We should get going," Jorah declared grumpily, "There is still much travel to reach Meereen."

Tyrion waved him off, "There is enough time for pleasantries, and I must admit that I'm always looking forward to partake in intelligent conversation," Tyrion jibbed, smug. Jorah looked unhappy (which he always did, so Tyrion didn't know if he could call it a victory) and continued warily eyeing Filius Flitwick.

"I must say, I have never heard of House Flitwick, is there any relation to House Mallister? The crest in your chest bears quite the resemblance." It was quite the uncanny resemblance, actually, what with only the color of the eagle (bronze, instead of Mallister silver) and the drawing style as the differences between the two emblems.

"No relation with such house as far as I'm aware. I must say, though, that the crest I wear is that of Ravenclaw House. A house quite well known in Great Britain... which you might know as Albion considering... it's a name it goes by. Speaking of which, I'm afraid I got lost in my travels towards Albion before I stepped ashore, might you know which way I can find it? Knowing the way to a Nargle colony would also be an acceptable option."

"No, I cannot say I have heard of Albion... but we are heading to a big city, maybe someone there would know the place? You are welcome to travel with us if you want. Guiding you is the least we could do to thank you for saving our lives." Tyrion gave Jorah a meaningful look, making him know it would be unwise to try to keep the man from traveling with them. "Oh! And, of course, since we would be traveling together, it's just polite that I introduce my companion, Ser Jorah Mormont, not the best conversationalist I have ever met, but he knows the way to our next stop."

"A pleasure to meet you," Filius smiled.

And so started Filius' travel in what he believed was the past, before the Statute of Secrecy was implemented, and in a land that was probably half a world away instead of in a completely world altogether.

...

Meanwhile...

Malko and his crew were happy to have gotten as far away from the little demon and the Old Man's Curse. They were sure to keep away from harming the elderly for a really long time. The experience had been terrifying, but not so much so that he would forgive his slaves, his PROPERTY, for not following his orders, letting him, Malko, be at risk of death. No, most certainly a good whipping at the very least would be needed to reinforce obedience. Malko would teach them all to fear him more than anything out there so the offense would not be repeated.

"Something is moving in the water!" the watchman of the crew yelled to the ones bellow.

The rest of the crew noticed the floating form soon enough. A white lump that floated idly on the soft waves: a giant jellyfish... or so they thought at first sight. It was only upon getting closer that they realized it was a pale woman with pale yellow hair that floated in the salt water like a moon-kissed seaweed, her dress an odd, frumpy, frilly thing that puffed upwards to her chest in a way that was strongly reminiscent of the sea animal they had mistaken her for.

"Bring her on board," Malko ordered with a greedy smile. At least something good had come from this day.

The girl who had been floating in the sea was brought onto the ship by a slave who presented his cargo with a satisfyingly subservient attitude. And what a find the girl was: an ethereally beautiful face, smooth skin and pale eyes, like bubbles of foam, with an agelessness that made them seem perpetually lost in the horizon; her body, that of a girl on the cusp of womanhood swayed along with the waves and hummed an unknown little song while the wind played with her seaweed-like hair the color of gold mixed with silver. She looked like a spirit of the sea, and Malko would have mistaken her as such if not for the red radishes dangling from her ears and the odd metal coins dangling around her neck with a collar made of old leather.

'She will bring me a lot of money' Malko smiled, his rotten smile making him seem even more despicable.

Little did he know that he would soon come to rue the day he let Luna Loovegood set foot on his ship.

 _End of Prompt 2_

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 **AN:** OK, so this is all I have written for what would have been the first chapter of the fic "Pocked Sized", which was to be named  Discussing Dwarfs' Dicks... It would have been a fun thing to write with Filius being Filius and Luna being Luna, but I couldn't figure out where to take it. Prompt takers are welcome and shall be added to the list bellow. Thanks for reading, see you around for the next prompt :D

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 ** _FICS INSPIRED BY THIS PROMPT_**

Name of the fic: _ Author:_

(AKA: None so far. Time will tell if anyone takes the prompt)

See you on the next one!


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